by IGMS
She placed all of the chicks together, and had the children sit in a circle, watching them. She threw a handful of seeds into the dirt, and said, "Now, sisters, I want you each to watch your own chick, and to count how often it pecks at the others."
Bann let Yusaf go. Yusaf was twice as tall as the other chicks, and far heavier. It did not need to fear them. But as the other chicks went to eat, Yusaf pecked at their eyes and chased them about. He leapt upon the girl chicks, and in a vicious attack finally tried to kill one. He leapt on her, kicking with the tiny spurs on the back of his feet, and pecked her head, leaving it bloody.
The teacher grabbed the chicks and drew them apart, telling Bann, "Hold him tight."
Bann felt ashamed of Yusaf, and whispered, "Bad chicken. Stop that now."
But Bann had learned one thing about chickens in the past few weeks. They were too dumb to follow a command.
It didn't matter. The teacher had ended the contest. "Now, sisters," she said. "What is the only difference between these chickens? They all ate the same food. They all drank the same water and warmed beneath the same sun. What was different?"
"Testosterone," Bann said, his hand shooting up faster than anyone else's.
"That's right," she said. Then she went around the circle, and asked each child to tell how many times her chick had pecked another. Bann's chick had pecked others more than four hundred times. Maya's chick had come in second in the contest, pecking other chicks more than fifty times, and the chick that got only a small amount of testosterone pecked others only thirty times. Some of the chicks hadn't pecked at others at all.
"Can you see how the testosterone hurts the chickens?" the teacher asked. "Among chickens, it turns them into cocks. It causes the cocks to peck others, sometimes to even kill others. It also has other effects. It makes the cocks grow strong, with muscles to match their violence. Itdrains all love from their hearts. It makes them stupid, eccentric, and morally weak. That's why we must separate the cock from the hens."
Bann was clinging tightly to Yusaf. "Here," the musfayed told him. "Let's put your cock away, so that the other chicks can eat in safety." She took Yusaf and locked him in a cage, along with the other cocks.
As she did, she spoke with her back turned, "Among humans, " she said, "testosterone turns boys into men. It is created by the body, in little sacs called testicles, which are hidden between the boy's legs."
Bann felt stunned. His testicles were a rare and embarrassing thing, almost a deformity. He'd never known what they did before.
He felt queasy. He wanted to assure the girls that he was not like some other men. He wasn't strong or stupid or morally depraved. He raised his hand. "I saw some men, once. Down below the city. They had hair all over -- like goats."
I'm not like them, Bann thought.
"Yes," the teacher said. "Like animals." She smiled cruelly, raised her hypodermic needle full of testosterone, and said, "Would any of you girls like some?"
All of the girls laughed nervously. Bann squirmed.
"The testosterone in a man isn't made all at once," the muysafed said. "The testicles come most alive when a boy reaches puberty. That's when his muscles grow large, and the hair grows, and the violence begins." She smiled benignly, an angel in her white silk uniform.
Suddenly Bann thought about the statue of the heroine Vanyarra in front of the assembly hall, the woman who had led the Three Thousand Sisters into space thousands of years before. She was young and beautiful, all dressed in white silk, her face hidden beneath the sheerest of veils. Her back was arched, as if she would suddenly lift into the air, and her eyes focused on something far away, high above her. Her face was exultant, as if all her life she had sought to see beyond that veil, and suddenly her vision had pierced it.
Bann felt like that, too. He could see the future. His body was producing testosterone. Given enough time, he would become hairy and stupid, like Yusaf, full of cruelty.
"Sister," he asked. "How do you fix testosterone?"
"Testosterone?" she asked. "There is no fixing it. It's a poison, a slow poison that makes you feel stronger as it kills you."
"Aren't there any good men?" Bann asked.
"There are legends," teacher said. "But they're only fables. Lies. The poison ruins all men. It makes them want to win at everything, to be the first to raise their hands in the classroom, to run faster than others, to dominate. It makes them want to rape women, even their own children. It forces them to fight, to go to war, to kill their wives. Testosterone destroyed Earth. That's why the wise matrons put the men from our cities so long ago. There was a time when we were ignorant, when we thought we needed men to breed," she looked pointedly toward Maya, "but we learned better."
Maya bent low and hid her face behind her hands. She was crying.
"Can't we fix the problem?" Bann asked desperately.
"Perhaps," the muysafed said. "Sometimes, boys will have the testicles removed, along with . . . that other thing between their legs. Once they have been given a few shots of female hormones, their breasts will develop, and they are practically women."
Bann realized suddenly that the teacher had arranged this whole experiment just for him. It was the teacher's way of showing what he needed to do.
He cringed, thinking of the pain that he would have to endure, but he knew that he'd do it. He didn't want to let the poison keep running through him. The thought of hitting Maya, of hurting her, was too repulsive.
"Now," teacher said, "let's take a break. You can go outside, but I'd likeeach of you to think about what you learned from our experiment. Maya, you stay in here with me. I would like to speak with you privately."
Bann got up and walked under the willows for a moment there in the dome, letting their fronds caress him, inhaling the bitter scent of their leaves. But he felt an overpowering need to escape. He rushed out the door, then stood with his back to the doorpost, hidden, thinking hard.
He heard a girl inside beg the teacher. "Can we keep the chicks?"
"Of course," the musfayed said, ever generous. "All but the ones that have testosterone poisoning."
"And what will we do with them?" a girl asked.
"Put them to sleep, let them die peacefully. There isn't much more that we can do."
"Can't we just put them in a cage, let the testosterone wear off, until they get better?"
"No," the teacher said sadly. "Even a little testosterone ruins them for life. It doesn't wear off. And they don't really ever recover."
"Even Bann?" Maya asked. "Even if he becomes a woman?"
"He has lived with testosterone poisoning since his conception," teacher said. "That's what made him a boy in the first place. It poisoned his brain as he developed. That's why he must be the first to raise his hand every time I ask a question. He can never truly overcome it. Still, for his own sake, and for ours, we must encourage him to try."
Bann felt stricken. He heard the girls leaving the dome, and he hurried to the sandy courtyard where the thin winter light filled the bowl of the sky. Darkness would soon fall.
He could see the Valkyries patrolling the walls of the sanctuary. Their grim weapons were legendary, as was their tenacity in battle.
Bann wandered near the wall, in its shadow. A spigot shot out of the wall, dripping precious water. A great red rose bush grew beside it and around it, its blossoms coloring the sandstone like blood.
Bann almost missed hearing them coming. He heard the single scuff of a shoe, turned, and saw the girls from his class -- all of them but Maya.
"Oh," he grunted in surprise, just as one girl clasped both hands together and clubbed him in the stomach. He collapsed to the ground, holding his stomach, trying to imagine what he had done to deserve such treatment, when the girls circled him and attacked.
Some fell on him and clawed at his face. One girl his arms. Others kicked at his exposed parts. Bann curled up in a ball, trying to protect himself, and shouted, "Hey? What's? What's?"
But he didn't ask th
e question. He knew why they had to do it. And so he bore the pain and tried to wait it out. The girls did not beat him in anger, but did so silently, that way that a craftswoman will work at her weaving or pounding out her dough.
He was a danger, and they were removing him. They scratched at his eyes and kicked his ribs until he could hardly breathe. Some of them wrestled his arms behind his back, thin arms that almost looked like porcelain, and a girl produced a pair of scissors from the classroom, which she used to hack off his long hair.
The girl with the scissors shouted, "Spread his legs for me. Spread them. Let's get rid of the cock!"
And suddenly the were trying to pull his legs wide. He locked them together.
Bann gritted his teeth, and considered fighting back. He knew that he was stronger than most of the girls.
But they got his legs spread, and the girls were still kicking and scratching, and the girl with the scissors -- Amayah -- came for him with a malicious gleam in her eye.
White hot anger flared in his chest. Bann reached up with a foot and fended her off, no longer caring if he hurt her.
"How many?" he growled, grunting. "How many pecks for you, and how many for me?"
One of the girls who was holding him down and biting gasped and backed away in horror. Another loosened her grip. But others still fought him.
Bann shouted louder. "How many pecks for you, and how many for me?"
Others backed off, but still three tried to hold him down. Amaya lunged with her scissors, and he used his foot to push her back. He threw the girls off and climbed to his feet, roaring, "How many pecks for you, and how many for me?"
The girls looked at him, their faces drawn and pale from shock. Bann felt wetness at his nose, wiped with his arm, and saw that it was bleeding. He silently took stock of himself. A few bruises and scratches, a bloody nose, bite marks on his arms and cheek. The girls had not done any serious harm, only surface damage.
Then one of the girls screamed, as if afraid that he would kill them all. Suddenly the girls were fleeing, scattering like sparrows from a cat.
Then they were gone.
Bann felt almost no anger toward them, only bewilderment, sadness, and a void.
He went to the spigot by the rosebush and wiped the blood from his face and from the scratches and bites on his arm. He could not get them clean, so he gave up.
He went back to his classroom, and found the muysafed still talking with Maya, her arms around the girl, as if to offer comfort. The teacher looked up at him as if in shock, but he knew that there was no surprise in her eyes. This is what she had wanted: She'd held Maya here, the only girl who would have protected him, and then aimed the other girls at him like bullets from a gun.
"I have come to turn in my assignment," Bann said. "I have thought about the experiment, and I have figured it out. This is what I have learned: I should not exist."
The musfayed's eyes widened, and her nostrils flared just a little, as if she had not expected such clarity. She nodded. "You are wise."
Bann turned, went to the cage that held Yusaf, and removed the chick. He tucked it under his arm, and stroked its head.
"Bann?" Maya said, trying to rise from her seat. But the teacher held her down and whispered, "Let him go."
Maya half-crouched, half stood in shock as her teacher held her. Bann was out the door for the space of twenty heartbeats before Maya realized that she had to go after him.
She tried to rise again, but the musfayed held her back a moment longer. "Let him cool down," she said. "He will make the right decision. You'll see."
Maya held the teacher with her eyes for a long moment. She was revered by other women, held in honor. But Maya suddenly felt as if she saw behind her veil.
"I have learned something too," Maya said. "Bann says that he should not exist. But I know a secret. . . ." She leaned forward and hissed, "You are no better than he."
The musfayed stepped back in astonishment, as if she had been slapped, and Maya leapt up. The teacher sought to grab her, but Maya dodged beneath her grasp and raced out into the sunlight.
She peered across along the wallwalk and down the lanes, but Bann was nowhere to be seen.
Maya searched all of that night for Bann. She went to his home that evening and found his mother.
"I left food, clothes and money in a pack on the bed," his mother said, "in case he decided to leave. He took everything but the money."
Maya studied the woman's sad face. Bann's mother was a poor woman, a pariah. Bann would not have wanted to take her money.
She thought at first that he might still be in the city, but there was no sign of him. The Valkyries that guarded the gates swore that he had not gone out that way. At last she circled the vast city, walking along the upper walls.
"I saw him leave, but I did not stop him," the guard upon the east wall told her.
"Where was he when he jumped?" Maya demanded.
The Valkyrie rolled down the walkway. "Here," she said.
Maya looked into her face, a face that projected so much warmth and concern, but really was really all metal and plastic and cold hard wires underneath.
"Thank you," Maya said. She peered down, could see nothing but clouds. Their roiling surface was not more than a dozen yards below her, and after that, all was a mystery. On the horizon, the sun of Lucien struggled once more to climb into the sky, an effort that would fail all too soon.
In the distance, in the high and rarified air so far above the canopy of rust-colored clouds, the lights of floater ships winked on and off like fireflies as they made for distant ports. She worried that Bann might already be on one of those ships, heading beyond her knowledge. Or even worse, he might be lying at the base of the cliff, killed upon some sharp rocks, or wounded at the edge of the jungle, just waiting for some predator to end his pain.
She considered going down to the gates, seeking an exit. But the Valkyries that guarded the gate would never let her go. She was a girl, after all, and served a higher purpose.
So before the Valkyrie could stop her, she ran two steps and leapt into the air, following Bann's path into the unknown.
Loose in the Wires
by John Brown
Artwork by Mike Roush
* * *
Some thought my brother-in-law Delmus was unstable; I just figured he needed some trials and tribulations to help clear his vision a bit. So when he found an agricultural role in the Peace Corps, I cheered. I could not wait to see the changes a noble service in the third-world would surely bring.
Delmus came back from Botswana one year later with the gleam of purpose in his eyes. He sat across the booth from me at an Artic Circle in Big Pine, Wyoming. I watched him eat his Bacon Bounty Cheeseburger in one long, concentrated go. No talking, no looking about, just earnest chewing, punctuated by a few drags on his chocolate shake. When he finally came back from whatever gustatory dimension he had slipped into, he sat back with a smile of slack joy.
"Was the food over there that bad?" I asked.
"Billy Boy," he said, "they were feeding me on rats and grass."
Then he grinned all big and goofy, and I couldn't tell if he was pulling my leg about the cuisine or the fact that he was calling me Billy Boy. He knew I preferred William or Will, but he said those names made me sound like some rich city fart and what kind of numb nut would want that?
He picked up his napkin and wiped his fingers like he was polishing silverware, then he looked me square in the eye. "Here's the deal. I wanted you to be the first to know."
"Know what?"
He motioned at me with his chin. "What have you heard about the old ways?"
I groaned inside. "You've gone and hooked up with a bunch of zombies and voodoo, haven't you?"
"Voodoo?" he said. "That's nothing but watered down Caribbean crap."
"Delmus," I said. He'd tried fighting fires. He'd tried college. He'd tried Wicca, magnet healing, Evangelical radio, nudist camps, and quantum mechanics. For one week he c
onsidered living on a Kibbutz in Israel. He'd told me that something as powerful and deep as oak roots worked inside him, driving him to find the three-dimensional manifestation of the ten-dimensionality of our existence.
Delmus could see my disappointment.
"Things have changed," he said. "I ain't blowing in the wind."
I just nodded. I liked Delmus. He was funny and kind. And no matter what he might sound like, he wasn't dumb - he had gotten a 31 on his ACT exams, and he hadn't even been trying. The boy had a lot of horses under his hood, but they were never given any opportunity to show what they could do: a Lamborghini stuck in life's parking lot.
"Let me guess," I said.
"No," he said. "First, you've got to hear this thing whole hog."
"Okay," I said. "I'm all ears."
He nodded, and when he'd gauged my sincerity, he leaned in close. "The truth is I've got me an African god in a Smucker's jelly jar in my trunk."
Then he sat back like he'd just showed me a million dollars.
"I see," I said.
Maybe I'd been wrong about Delmus. He wasn't a Lamborghini. Heck, he wasn't even a Ford. Delmus was turning out to be a go-cart.
We stood in the parking lot and he opened the trunk of his Mustang. A woman with short, expensive hair walked out of the Artic Circle and put on her sun glasses. She wore shorts made of some silky stuff that slid over the tops of her thighs like they were made of glass.
Delums poked me in the ribs. "Hey. I can goggle on the sly, but you, Billy Boy, you got to keep your focus."
I was married to Delmus's older sister, Jill, and married men in Delmus's family were not allowed to look. I had been told this by Jill's father: men were all alcoholics of lust and looking was nothing more than a fool bellying up to the bar.
"A momentary lapse," I said and directed my attention to the contents of Delmus's trunk. Amidst the jumper cables and two quarts of Pennzoil, I saw a crate the size of a toaster. It had small orange letters painted on it in French. Delmus popped off the lid, and there, nestled in the security of Botswanan newspaper, sat a large jar with holes punched in its red-checkered lid.